


Sing of Helen,too.

by hoopshoney



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Billionaire!Erik AU, F/M, Yes its romantic, Yes they are in France, and plots that have no connection to the movies this is for you, billionaire au, if you like romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-11-25 20:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18171230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoopshoney/pseuds/hoopshoney
Summary: An Billionaire!Erik Au.Erik Stevens watches everyone he loves get taken away from him before he’s even a teenager. At the age of fifteen, he finally gains something: A new family. Adopted by Marius and Beth Walker, the course of Erik’s life is changed as he grows up with the love of two parents and the privilege that comes with wealth. But being a prince isn’t taken away so easily and love isn’t gained without a little work.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @bakarisangel who edited, encouraged, and listened to my random plot ranting! Find me on tumblr @hoopshoney for cast picture and fic posters and tons more Erik fics.

_ Erik Stevens had experienced the worst life had to offer before the age of fifteen. _

His misfortunes started with the loss of his mother to the prison system and then to death. It felt less like a ‘loss’ and more like she had been taken. Taken by the police who refused compassion to the young mother and then taken by the illness that ravaged her body in jail. 

But he kept going. Kids are resilient and he never felt like she was truly gone, her touch still largely present in their household. He still had his home. Basketball tryouts. His uncle who helped him with his spelling homework. His pops and the fantastic almost unbelievable stories he told.  

But they had been taken from him too. On a warm summer night, as the sound of rubber hit rusted metal without net, his father was  _ taken _ . And simultaneously  _ left _ . Left for him to find, bleeding with no breath. Left alone, without Uncle James. They were both taken. And then Erik was too. 

Taken by the older man next door who had to drag him from his father’s body. Taken to somewhere “safe” by the police. And then taken to the group home to which he would stay for a few years before being bounced from foster home to foster home.

_ Erik Stevens’s whole life changed at the age of fifteen.  _

His life changed when Marius Walker, walked into an adoption agency with his wife Beth determined to leave with a child. Marius trying to convince his wife they should adopt a younger child, was quickly silenced with a swift look as she watched Erik dust off the scraped knees of a child who had just fallen.  

They adopted him quickly, Beth wanting him with them as soon as possible, meaning money changed hands both legally and illegally to make it happen. 

He was theirs within the week. 

He was rich within a week. 

Marius and Beth Walker, were millionaires, no, billionaires. Erik didn’t even know there could be Black billionaires. When they showed him around his new home he suspected their indoor pool made them richer than Michael Jordan. The basketball court in the backyard, hoop rimmed with a crisp white net, let him know that his new life would be vastly different than his old. 

But it wasn’t easy. Erik didn't want to be there, he wanted to be back in Oakland. He wanted to be around his friends, the only constant he had in the past years. He would sneak and take buses back there, leaving early in the morning before Beth could come in his room and invite him down for breakfast. He knew it was a risk, knew that everytime he ran away they could give up on him and send him back to the group home where the food was infrequent and the showers were cold, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

But Marius was there every time. His black SUV would roll into the neighborhood, stopping at Erik’s best friend Jay’s house as soon as the streetlights came on and he would usher him home. Letting him sit in the front seat and blast Tupac, not yelling when he rapped the curse words( “Promise you won’t tell Mama B”), usually stopping for some treat along the way though Erik would swear he was too old to care (cookies and cream ice cream for him and a chipwhich for Erik, also “promise you won’t tell Mama B”). They enrolled him in his old school, regardless of the low standardized test scores the district touted. The district got random donations for books, computers, and raises, every year that he was in school there, though the donors were never revealed. 

They were a family. They were his family. Not a new one, just extended. Not better, just different. And he loved them for it. 

He loved them cause Mama B helped him to create a faux liver system for his overambitious science project. It only worked because of her help. He loved that Marius took him to pro basketball games, though they never sat courtside. Instead they sat in the cheapest seats in the building, seats so far up that Erik felt like they were climbing Mount Everest, but Marius always said you had to work hard for the things that mattered. 

He loved them because they never took him too far from Oakland for too long. He still got his hair cut at Big Red’s and graduated high school with Jay, and the barbeque in the courtyard of their old projects was the best party he had ever been too.  

Beth took him to his parent’s grave whenever he asked and always held him when he cried, no matter how old he was, her hands stroking gently over the short fade of his hair. Marius cried with him when he got into Westpoint early, giving him a glass of his best scotch as they sat in his study for the thousandth time (Marius had bought him a chipwich to go with the scotch). 

Beth was the one who caught him with the journal. Checking in on him late at night, she would catch him reading in his bed by the light of a flashlight, never saying anything. A small lamp appeared in his room a few nights later. It took years for him to tell her, scared that she wouldn’t believe him, that she would think it was just stories, that she would tell him his father was wrong. 

She didn’t. 

Instead she helped him search, cuttings out news clippings that mentioned the country, emailing him clips from documentaries, and leaving library books on his nightstand until they were sure. And they were sure. The journal his father wrote, the stories he told him, combined with the research both him and Beth did told him it was truth.  And when he decided to leave it behind, deciding he was happy with what he had and maybe he wasn’t ready to search for this old/new family he had never met, she supported him. Though he occasionally got a news clipping in the mail. 

They gave him a life designed for him to thrive, without disparaging the life and the lessons he learned in the past. 

His tutor, a black man named Louis (“pronounced the proper french way”, he would argue in accented tone) supplemented his knowledge from school. Cramming languages in his head with a speed and vigor that had his dream conversations speaking Latin and French and Spanish all mixed together. 

He learned to swim in the ocean in Spain, he hadn’t even see the ocean before then. His teacher, the young girl with curly hair and thick eyebrows that would be his first crush, holding his body aloft in the warm water. Beth would watch from the deck of their beach house, her one nod to black stereotypes the fact that she refused to get her hair wet. 

Going to college was a given in their household. His acceptance into Westpoint joyous but not surprising, his subsequent time at MIT a proud time for their family. They struggled with his decision to become a SEAL, though they ultimately supported him, welcoming him back with relief and a prayer. 

He was happy. Happier than he ever should have been considering the early trajectory of his life.

_ Erik Stevens’ whole life changed for the third time at the age of 26. _

It started with a letter. A fucking letter. He rarely got mail, a nod to the fact that he was gone so much with the military, but this was different. It had come to his parent’s home, an address he never officially noted down out of fear of some revenge seeker showing up at their door. 

But he opened it and the axis of his life shifted in the first sentence. 

_ Erik Stevens, _

_ I’m sure that you don’t know me but my name is T’challa Udaku, Crown Prince of Wakanda, a small African nation. This may come as a shock to you but I think we need to meet as I have discovered you are my cousin. I will be---- _

Though the words were heavy, the letter made hardly a sigh as it hit the surface of the kitchen counter.  

* * *

 

“So it’s true,” Beth’s voice was a reverent whisper as she passed the letter to Marius. Standing near the fireplace, scotch in hand, he looked at the seal at the bottom of the letter before looking back to Erik. 

“I thought we had already established that,” throwing the scotch back in one swallow, he chuckled lowly. 

“I mean of course we did, i just-it’s-to see it written out like this. It’s so concrete. I mean, wow? Are you gonna meet him?” she could barely contain the excitement in her voice, to believe was one thing, but this, this was something else. 

“Of course he’s gonna meet him,” Marius’s voice was matter of fact, though his raised eyebrow conveyed some of his skepticism. 

Realizing their monopolization of the conversation, they both turn to look at him expectantly. They hadn’t seen their son this ruffled in years. Years of team sports, military school, and classified missions that even they couldn’t know about, had seen him calm in the face of a lot of obstacles. But now, faced with the prospect of meeting the family he had ignored for years, his stress showed clearly. With his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, they could see how tightly he gripped the crystal decanter filled with scotch. 

Beth was the one to break the silence, leaning forward in her chair to grasp his tightly clenched hand in hers “Sweetheart, it’s okay if you don--”

“I’m gonna do it,” it’s said with conviction, the way Erik says most things, “I don’t know what the fu-what I’m gonna get outta it but shit might as well.”

His dad’s firm “Watch your mouth in front of your mother,” is said automatically, though there's no real heat in it, “You know we’ll support you, whatever you decide.” 

“Do you- do you want one of us to come with you?” Beth’s voice is tentative, as if noticing the short hold he has on his emotions. 

Finishing the last of his scotch, he stands leaning down to kiss her on the forehead, “Nah, gotta do this by myself.” Clasping his dad’s hand, he gives him a quick hug before grabbing his jacket and heading towards the door. 

The faint “Don’t forget Sunday dinner,” is the last thing he hears before the door shuts behind him. 

* * *

 

Little known fact about Erik Stevens, he has a sense of humor. His parents, both pairs, used to always say he was a little too serious, but his humor just looked different than everyone else’s. 

Like right now, the straight line of his mouth didn’t convey how amusing he found this situation. But it was fucking funny, man. 

Across from him sat T’challa--excuse me, Prince T’challa Udaku, heir to the Wakandan throne --a country that had recently revealed itself as one of the wealthiest, healthiest, and most advanced in the world--in the most rundown restaurant in Oakland that Erik could think of. 

Ricky’s Chicken Shack had perpetually sticky floors, the vinyl from the seats were ripped letting out little tufts of stuffing in various places, the soda machine always had one flavor broken, and the staff had never said a polite thing to anyone ever, but the chicken was damn good. And it was the one place he could think of that could throw a man who walked through the world like a prince off his game. 

The young girl setting their food down in front of them interrupted Erik’s observations. 

“Y’all need anything else?” Looking back and forth between the two men, she wonders why they didn’t get customers like this all the time. 

Flashing a quick smile, golds glinting in the dim lighting, Erik shakes his head, “Nah, we good ma.’”

Ignoring the stiff figure in front of him, he starts eating, deciding that a tense standoff between cousins is no reason for food to go to waste. Besides, T’challa was the one who called this ‘meeting’ and he wasn’t opposed to hearing the prince out for a few minutes. 

“I’m glad you decided to meet with me, I didn’t know if you would be willing.” His voice is hopeful but restrained, the African accent floating through the air gently, cutting through the Oakland accents around him. 

The taunting is evident in Erik’s voice when he answers, “Yeah, well I figure it's not everyday you get to meet a prince.”

Ignoring the man’s tone, he continues, “There’s a lot about your family--our family, our culture, our country that you don’t know. Things that are hard to explain but necessary. Things you deserve to know.”

Letting out a chuckle that was half scoff, he looks T’challa in the eye, a menacingly dark gleam in his eyes, “Try me.”

“My mother used to tell me this story about our fathers. She would say that when she first came to the capital city her father had expected that she would marry N’Jobu. Said he was the the strong one, the one who would become the pant--who would rule. But she fell in love with my father. She said N’Jobu had the strength but T’Chaka would read her poetry and show her the best fishing spots--” 

Erik shakes his head, not wanting to hear this story but not wanting it to end. All that he had from his father was the foggy memories of childhood and what he could gleam from old sheets of paper, no memories, no fond stories. But T’challa ignored him, as much enamored in the story telling as Erik was in the story. 

“She said N’jobu was never mean to her. In fact it was like he barely noticed she was around. She said she started to hate him, hate the idea that they were supposed to be together. One of the few times he ever spoke to her was the day he ended their engagement. He told her he knew she was in love with T’Chaka and that they deserved to be happy. That he wasn’t angry at her or his brother and that they should be together. He said that he was telling her this and not T’chaka because he knew that T’Chaka would never do it. Even then, she would say, you could see the type of men that they were going to be. T’Chaka would always put his country first, even at the expense of his love for my mother. But N’Jobu, he would always make the hard decisions, the ones that he deemed necessary.”

He paused for a second, lost in his own story as he looks at the man sitting beside him. His tone was more hyper when he spoke again, frantic almost, as if he had a hope that he could explain it in his own words, put this own spin on it, color it differently. “The men that they became--I’m sure that they did not know that it would leave them so divided. But there is no need for the sins of our fathers to continue to affect us so.”

Erik thumbs the side of his nose, shifting his body on the uncomfortable vinyl, as if to resettle his soul inside his skin. “Yeah that’s a good story, but you see I didn’t come here for stories.”

T’challa’s voice is sharp at this point, his nervousness and agitation mixing and seeping through, “Then why did you come?!”

Voice soft, Erik leans towards him, his hands clasped together on the table top, “Wanted to get a look at who I could have been. Gotta say, I like this version better, less pussy than the other.”

“N’Jadaka--”

His fist hit the table top loud enough to echo, words breathed through clenched teeth “You don’t get to call me that! What, you think because you tell me some simp ass story that we connected now? What, y’all niggas expect me to just hop on a plane and go meet ya moms. Tell her how happy I am to have a chance at a real family. Fuck outta here with that bullshit.”

“So you would reject us outright. You have aunts there, cousins, grandparents. You would reject them outright without even a chance.” He understood his anger but was almost in disbelief at his rejection. 

“Oh so you want to play at being family. Cool, cool, but not really what I’m looking for.” 

“They  _ are _ your family.” T’Challa’s voice was firm, one that was used to giving orders and having them done as quickly as they were issued. 

While Erik might not have grown up a prince and the trappings of wealth may have still fit him a bit uncomfortably, this was something they had in common. Years of foster care and the military school had taught Erik how to take orders. Recognize the tone of voice when someone’s request is really a statement. 

His new family and joining his JSOC unit had taught him to be comfortable giving orders, that he’d done what he needed to earn that spot, the role of one who commands. 

What had T’Challa done to earn that, other than be born? 

Erik’s voice is filled with a faux nonchalance , “Yeah see, I already got enough family. Don’t really need anymore,” his voice hardens though it keeps its matter of fact tone “Besides, way I see it is, I start visiting the family and y’all gotta start explaining stuff to y’all people. I mean, wouldn’t really want it to get out that daddy’s a murderer right.”

The barely restrained fury in T’Challa’s voice is the reaction he was looking for, “My father was a good man. He made a mistake.”

Erik turned his words back on him just as fiercely “ _ My _ father was a good man.  _ He _ made a mistake. Why did your father get to be judge, jury, and executioner to mine?”

There’s no mistaking the sadness in T’Challa’s voice. He had recently learned that life was unfair, that people lied, and that your heroes let you down. Erik had known that most of his life. “I do not know! Erik, I do not know. And I can not change it. I can take you to Wakanda. I can embrace your family as my own. I can try. I’m willing to try. Are you?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Unfortunately this chapter is not beta’d so all mistakes are my own. Conversations in Italics denote someone speaking french( seemed easier than actually translating). Enjoy and please comment or send me an ask with your opinion! Also find me on tumblr under hoopshoney

10 Years later

“Oh my godddd, I already told you I’m fine! What’s the point of letting me come here if you’re just gonna call me every five minutes! E, please talk to mom, she’s spazzing!” The whine in her voice made her sound younger than her fifteen years, as she looked up at her brother with the Iphone in her hand.

Deciding that they wanted more children in their life, Erik’s parents had adopted her ten years ago, when she was 5. Taking in the small, non-verbal child had been an easy decision. Loving her to the point of overprotectiveness had come soon after. Erik hadn’t expected to be a big brother at any point at his life but he hadn’t hesitated to dive in to the experience feet first.

Terra was fifteen years old and the most spoiled kid he knew. Not that it made her less likable. She was a social butterfly and the epitome of a well-adjusted child. She had decided her signature look at 10, vintage preppy was the way she described it; her future job at 12, art historian with an eventual museum curator position. To reach this goal, she had decided that getting into the Moreau Summer Art Program was a must. So she did. It was as simple as that, she would say to anyone who asked. Much to the chagrin of her worried and anxious parents, who simultaneously were proud and not excited about letting their fifteen year old daughter run loose around Paris.

Enter Erik. Older brother and desperately in need of a vacation since he had taken a position at their family company, his parents had negotiated a deal: if Erik agreed to stay in the city with her, she could go. Commence the begging, bribes, and tears.

They had landed in Paris one day ago and fielded about five phone calls from their mom so far. Looking up from the paperwork he was going over from their home office, he took the phone barely sparing the disgruntled teenager a glance.

“Erik–”

He interrupts before she could even get started,“Ma, everything is good. The apartment is set up, I’ve called the school, and I made sure her skirt is regulation length.”

Beth sighs on the other end of the phone, “I know i’m being annoying but both of my babies are halfway across the world and my house feels particularly empty.”

“Ma, I’ve been out the house for years,”Erik protests.

“Yeah but at least I had Terra as an excuse to lure you back in. I’m half afraid you both will decide so just stay there forever.” though Beth’s tone is joking Erik can hear the slight sadness in her voice.

“You never need an excuse for me to come over…I mean where else can I swim in a heated indoor pool.”

“Erik!–” her voice is indignant.

“You know i’m just playin’, ma. Just let her have this summer and then we’ll be home before you know it. Shit, you know i’m not gonna let anything happen to her and she’ll have guards when she’s not at school. Fuck, she’ll probably be the most protected girl in France when Shuri and T’challa get here.”

The faint “Watch your mouth” could be heard through the phone as his dad listened in.

“Well at least make her call me on her first day of classes.” Beth’s voice is pleading on the other end.

“I promise. She’ll call you once a week. At least.” Erik’s voice is firm.

Knowing how much his mother cares makes her phone calls a little less annoying. She had saved two children from the worst experiences the world had to offer and was determined to make sure they didn’t feel it again.

Wrapping up the call, Erik headed into the sunlight covered room his sister had claimed as her own.

He tossed the phone on the bed she was laying on, the gentle bouncing making her sit up, “What’d she say?” her voice was anxious.

“Make sure you call her once a week,” turning to leave the room he was stopped by the annoyed huff.

“Urggghhhhhhh”

“What the hell you “urggghh”-ing for? You could’ve been calling her everyday, shit no one could be mad at her for asking for that. Fix your attitude.” The flight, plus the constant mediations between the two women in his life had left his fuse a little short.

Terra’s voice immediately went into a pout. She wasn’t used to being scolded and especially not from her brother. “Sorry.—I just–I don’t want her worried about me the whole time.”

“Yeah well you’ll learn that avoiding her doesn’t really help her not feel worried, kid.” Slapping his hand on the doorframe, he decides he’s done enough lecturing, “Mad at yo ass for making me sound like dad.”

A laugh escapes Terra, though she brings her hand up to cover it, “You really do sound like dad! The second you start lecturing people about cursing I’m putting you in a home.” 

* * *

 

There was only so much of white people that Erik could take and he was just about reaching his limit. His dress shoes were uncomfortable, his tux fit well but there was only so long before tails and a bow tie became suffocating, and if he had to brush off one more bored parisian housewife he was gonna snap.

He had left Polite Erik behind 30 minutes ago. He was barely holding on to Restrained Erik as it was, much to T’challa’s chagrin.

They had come to talk about housing and funding for refugees of African descent who had made their way into Paris. Of course between the two of them, they could fund the efforts in full but there was no better way to redistribute wealth than to get it from those who were fighting to keep it.

He had schmoozed as much as he could and now he was ready to get out of here. Looking around he spots his cousin heading towards him the same exasperated look on his face. “Ready to dip?”

Leaving the event, they decided to forego their hired car, instead walking the few blocks between the venue and Erik’s apartment. As he walked with his cousin in the cool night air, both of them a little buzzed from the expensive scotch they had drank through the night, he thinks of how strange it was to be in this situation. Years ago he would have never imagined being this close to the man he was now proud to call cousin. Erik was starkly against having a relationship with his family, the decision creating conflict in his mind and eventually in his family.

—–  _Flashback—–_

Beth Walker was a patient woman. She knew this, her husband knew this, and her kids did as well. She had to be to go through the things she has. She was patient when she found her husband, on a three year hiatus from dating and it no hurry to rush into anything. She was patient when they were trying to have children, only to be disappointed to discover that would never happen. And she was patient when waiting for the right child to enter her life and that’s when she found Erik.

But she had reached her limit. She hadn’t seen or heard from her baby in three weeks. THREE! Marius had did her best to keep her worries at bay, insisting that he would come to them in his own time. Erik was an introvert at heart, insistent on wading through his emotions alone. While Marius respected this, it was hard for Beth who wore her emotions on her sleeves and was quick to talk about them.

But enough was enough, she thought. Using her key that was “For Emergencies Only”, she let herself into Erik’s apartment. Calling his name, she disabled the alarm near the front door before continuing on in the silent apartment.

It was immaculately clean.

A clear sign of her son’s downward spiral.

He had always tried to control everything and when he couldn’t control his emotions he turned to his environment. Hence the eerily perfect space Beth had walked into. The scent of bleach hung in the air, as she took in the perfectly lined shoes by the front door and the pressed throw blanket on the couch, its crease sharp and telling.

Heading to the bedroom she wasn’t surprised by what she saw. Erik was laying on his back on his perfectly made bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. Though his eyes were closed, she knew he wasn’t sleep; Erik could never sleep with another person in the room, always waking at the slightest noise.

“You missed Sunday dinner,” the first thing out of her mouth wasn’t as compassionate as she wanted, but she hadn’t seen her son in a long time, “Three of them, to be exact.”

She took his answering silence in stride, used to dealing with him and his stubbornness. “I understand that you’ve been going through a lot but you could have at least called. Your dad was worried.”

She didn’t mention herself, knowing that her presence here was enough to convey her neuroses over his disappearance. But Marius never worried and she knew that hearing about his stress would get to Erik slightly.  

He shifted a little on the bed, guilt settling on him like a heavy blanket, though he still didn’t open his eyes. Sitting down beside him, Beth settles in for a talk she knows is gonna be one sided.

Erik had called them after his talk with T’challa, voice flat, his retelling of the conversations was word for word but lacking emotion. She could only imagine how he felt, meeting the one man who could confirm all that he had speculated on his whole life. The pain and simultaneous joy that came with knowing what he discovered was right.

“I know this is a hard decision for you, baby, but you can’t hide yourself away from the world,” voice firm, she continued on knowing that these were hard truths she knew he needed to hear,” You can wallow here if you want, Erik, but the world is going to keep turning. T’challa is gonna keep being a prince, his life will be what it is and yours will be what it is and nothing can change that.”

Erik’s eyes scrunched close, a childish response to the truth’s his mom was dropping.

“I’ve seen you live your whole life with one hand outstretched for love and the other one balled into a fist in case you didn’t get it. You’ve known that these people have existed for your whole life and i’ve respected your decision to not search for them because it was your choice and I couldn’t bear to put you through any more pain. I don’t think you should regret that decision. But you’re suffering now. I don’t know what burden you’re bearing in your heart, what’s keeping you from making the best decision for you, but no matter what, you HAVE a family. We can never be taken away from you, no matter what you choose to do. Don’t be afraid to outstretch both hands.”

Beth sighed when she didn’t get a response, getting off the bed she was stopped by the feel of Erik’s hand grabbing hers. He hadn’t opened his eyes, but his hand engulfed hers like a lifeline. Like she was the only thing keeping him from drowning.

Gently stroking the dreads atop his head, she sighed softly, “Oh honey, you’ll figure it out. And call your father.”

—— _End of Flashback_ ——

Continuing down the dark Parisian street, Erik and T’challa talked during their walk. Their conversation bouncing from topic to topic, before stumbling into a street lined with luxury shops that were open late; probably catering to the elite who wanted to avoid crowds.

Their conversation died off as they walked the street, window shopping taking over the air that was previously filled with sound. Not hearing the sound of T’challa’s shoes behind him, Erik turns around to see him stopped in front of a tiny storefront, its window displaying only an impeccably high crown, the thin gold molded into the shape of a cherub surrounded by flowers. Devoid of any jewels, the brightness of the gold still showcased the piece in the best light.

“Is this the shop we will be going to tomorrow?” pointing towards the stained glass door that obscured the inside.

Looking at the small placard posted to the side,Erik noted the name, before nodding, “Yeah, T wouldn’t shut up about this place.”

The understated building doesn’t look like much, its architecture much the same as the other buildings around. Curiosity getting the best of him, Erik pulls open the heavy door, T’challa right on his heels as they enter the shop.

The lighting is dim, only a few overhead lights illuminating the sparse entrance, two banks of display cases on opposite walls visible. Walking to the case closer to him, Erik looks down at the trinkets inside, not noting anything inside that would make his sister so enamored with the place.

_“We’re closing, you will have to come back tomorrow,”_  the voice floated down in impeccable french, it tenor light and airy.

“ _Bonsoir, madam, we were just stopping in_ ,” T’challa elbows his cousin to stop him from touching the display of precariously perched glass figurines, “we didn’t mean to disturb you of course.”

The cousins finally catch a glimpse of the lilting voice when a petite woman walks from a side door behind the left bank of counters. She was short in stature, though it was hard to make that conclusion with the high heels she had on. Her hair, straight and sleek, was parted down the middle and pulled into a low ponytail secured at the nape of her neck. Erik’s intense perusal was interrupted by her voice once again.

Her lilt turned questioning, “ _You are Americans_?” Her question but not a question was posed while she was looking them up and down. Quickly she offers out a hand to shake, T’Challa taking it first before moving on to Erik.

Switching to English seamlessly, Erik grabs her hand foregoing the handshake to press a quick kiss to the back of her hand, “That obvious?”

She lifts a brow at the chivalrous yet cheesy gesture, before gently removing her hand, “Only to another American.”

“Really?” T’challa’s voice serves to break the silence of the two, “Your French is impeccable.”

Ignoring his question she notes his accent,raising her eyebrow at the sound of his voice. “…So not American?” her voice is tinged with confusion and traces of a French accent as she looks between the two, before making her way behind the closest counter.

Erik is the one that answers her, “One outta two ain’t bad.”

Turning her attention to the tall man in front of her, she lets a smile peak through, “I guess it isn’t but regardless of how well dressed,” a nod to their tuxedos, “and charming you may be, we are closed.”

“Ah of course, we did not mean to interrupt your evening,” T'challa’s voice is contrite where Erik’s is brusque in the softness of twilight.

“Actually, ma we gotta appointment for tomorrow, just wanted to swing by see if you was living up to your reputation.” The smirk on his face is evident as he twirls an antique letter opener he lifts from her display.

Looking down at the counter in front of her she flips through her appointment book before looking up at the two of them, “The Udaku family?”

“T’Challa Udaku, interrupting your peaceful evening.”

His small dig pulls a laugh out of her as she heads back towards him and his companion, “And you, monsieur?”

He stands a little straighter when he says his name, almost as if it’s a point of pride to be able to wear it, “Erik Stevens.”

Her small is soft as she repeats his name back to him, almost as if she’s rolling it around for taste, “Erik Stevens, the American. Anaïs. It’s a pleasure.”

Looking her up and down from the tips of her toes, curving over her full hips and breasts before landing on her face, he smiles, “Same.”

Glancing down at his wrist, she makes a small gesture towards him. “May I?” she asks stepping closer to him. Unsure of her purpose, he nods slowly, prompting her to grab his wrist, her fingers running over the large face of the watch he wears. “This is a beautiful watch. Piguet, correct?”

“Living up to your reputation, huh? You got a good eye, girl.” It was absurd how much he enjoyed the feel of her fingers lightly slipping around his wrist. He could imagine it slipping other places. Places it would be better to think about without his cousin standing beside him.

A mischievous smile appears on her face as she looks up quickly, catching his eye, “I have a good eye for expensive things.”

Breaking eye contact with a quick breath in, she steps back before gesturing towards the door with a genuine smile towards him and T’Challa, “Well gentlemen, as much as I’ve been enjoying this late night rendezvous, I’m afraid we will have to continue this tomorrow.”

T’challa pulls his reluctant cousin by his shoulders  as they make their way out of the door, “I will save you from my cousins flirting and we’ll leave you to your night, mademoiselle.”

Only slight resisting his cousin’s pull, Erik stops one last time in the doorway as he looks at her framed by the opulence of her store lobby, “Tomorrow?”

A shy smile grazes her face as she meets the intensity of his gaze, “Tomorrow.


End file.
